Seated across from Ismail in one of the suede wingback chairs in his office, he waited for his headstrong patient to say something in his defence.

‘I’m here to help you,’ Gessen said, as the minutes dragged on, ‘but I can only do that if you meet me halfway.’

Ismail spread his fingers and made a show of examining his nails. ‘And how do you suggest I do that?’

Only the very wealthy, Gessen mused, could be so coolly self-assured. He suspected it was a pose, though there was no doubt Ismail was suffering. Anxiety and depression topped the list. Exacerbated, surely, by the ongoing stand-off with his father, a wealthy diplomat and business tycoon, with an explosive temper, if the rumours were true. To complicate matters, Ismail now had two men to rebel against, both of whom stood in the way of his only desire: a swift return to Oxford and the ‘unsuitable attachment’ awaiting him there. A pretty, socially ambitious girl, apparently, whom the father was anxious to keep away from his son.

Gessen leaned forward, hoping to make eye contact. ‘Talk to me.’

Ismail raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d rather not.’ With a look of distaste he scanned the room. ‘Why isn’t there a single bloody clock in this pimped-up prison of yours?’

‘Is there somewhere you have to be?’ Gessen suppressed a smile. The boy certainly had a way with words. A brilliant student in his last year at Oxford, he’d been headed for a first-class degree in biomedical engineering, until his plans were derailed in the wake of a suicide attempt. A bid for his father’s attention, Gessen believed, rather than a true desire to die, but that didn’t mean he could take any chances. Not with a patient like this, trapped by family decrees and fighting for personal autonomy. After graduating, Ismail had planned to take a year off and travel with his girlfriend before returning to England to study medicine. That is, until his father swooped in and scuppered his plans.

Ismail slid onto his tailbone and closed his eyes. A segue to his usual modus operandi, refusing to speak. Since Gessen couldn’t force him to talk, their sessions often ended in a stalemate. Mute patience on one side, seething resentment on the other, with Gessen obliged to travel the thin line between silence and a restrained monologue. Tossing titbits into the void about how important it was for Ismail to work through not only the impasse with his father, but the storm of emotions roiling in his heart.